


Hope

by 1221bookworm



Series: 50 Prompts (from Tumblr) [5]
Category: Crown Duel - Sherwood Smith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-20 17:02:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12437526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1221bookworm/pseuds/1221bookworm
Summary: Inspired by the Tumblr prompt: Hope.  Danric reflects on the ring he was received from Meliara and decides to wear it.  The rest, as they say, is history.





	Hope

**Author's Note:**

> This started from the prompt and it got a little longer than I started out thinking it would - but I hope you enjoy!
> 
> I don't own Crown Duel. That belongs to Sherwood Smith. But I do get to have fun knocking around in Danric's head from time to time.

Danric let out a sigh as he closed his bedroom door. He wasn’t sure exhausted was a strong enough description of how tired he was. He had experienced a great amount of release at Meliara’s spectacular party. It had been expertly crafted, and Danric allowed himself a few moments for his mind to wander back. He smiled slightly as he thought of his dance with Meliara, eternally grateful he had taken the time to study the dances of the past. It had made their dance more pleasant. Meliara had seemed almost genuine, lacking most of the resentful attitude he had learned to accept. Or perhaps it was just his imagination.  
There was no letter from Meliara as he sorted the stack of mail that was waiting for him. If he was honest with himself, he knew she would never have had the time to both write and prepare her party. His heart had hoped for it, though, a bright spot in his correspondence, always answered first, except in cases of dire emergency. He wondered to himself whether he should congratulate her on her party – was it too soon to begin dropping hints as to his identity? He had to act soon – Meliara was sure to flee back to Tlanth as soon as Bran and Nee’s wedding was over, and while he certainly wouldn’t let the distance disrupt their letters, it would become a nuisance. They had become accustomed to two or three letters a day. The distance would cause delay, and, it pained Danric to think it, she would have little need of an unknown pen pal when she was back among friends.  
Mentally shaking himself out of his reverie, Danric double checked his letters, and, pleased there was nothing urgent, he decided they could all wait until morning, and he would turn in early for a change.  
Rising from the bed, Danric stepped into his dressing room, and began removing the jewelry that had accompanied tonight’s outfit. As he placed his rings away, he spotted the small ring Meliara had sent him. The ekirth sparkled in the light of the glow globe as he lifted it. He ran his finger gently over the pattern on the band, wondering if her fingers had stroked it, or perhaps if she had tried it on, judging how well it would look when worn. Danric slid it onto his own hand. It had a comforting feel as he settled it into place. He turned his hand to admire the particular pattern engraved around the stone. Turning, he began the rest of his preparations for bed. He would wear her ring, no his now, he corrected himself. Not in public, not just yet, but he had hope that very soon he would be. It occurred to him that perhaps he should broach the subject of her impending departure, and discover if she was ready to learn who he was.  
Smiling to himself that he had a plan, Danric returned to his bedroom. He felt hope wearing his ring. He had made a decision that very soon he would know his fate. He smiled to himself, wondering if he should remove himself as king-apparent if he lost her favor, for he would not take the throne alone, and he would not take it with another for his heart was wholly Meliara’s.  
He was just about to lower the light from the glow globes when there was an urgent tapping at the servants’ entrance. Opening the door, Danric found one of his own Blues. Obviously, this message was important, or they had been in great haste, too harried to send a runner.  
Danric could feel himself droop at the message: the Marquise had openly opposed him and would begin her march on Remalna-City. He wondered what had prompted her to move so fast as he sent the equerry to inform his parents, and quickly dressed again.  
He left Meliara’s ring on his finger – there would be no one to recognize it. 

********** ********** **********

Knowing he would need to eat to keep up this pace, Danric ordered stew as soon as he entered the first inn. And coffee. Even his waterproof cloak couldn’t keep the chill of rain from soaking into his bones.  
He opened his bag of correspondence, knowing the following days would leave him little time to address it. Settling himself at the writing desk, he did his best to focus on the task at hand, instead of reviewing the possible scenarios that faced him. His Blue’s were ready for it. Absently, he noticed he had forgotten to take off his riding gloves in his haste to multi task while waiting for his food.  
Danric glanced up in time to see a gloved finger poke its way between the curtains to the sitting room. The curtain parted just enough for a face to peer through. Danric was totally unprepared for the jolt that went through him as his eyes met those sneaking a peak into his room. Meliara. They were both frozen, and then she disappeared.  
Danric raced to the curtain, hoping he could catch her before she disappeared into the crowded common room below. He found her leaned against the wall. Inwardly he chuckled at how ill accustomed she was to racing cross country after a full day of courtly activities. And how did she always manage to get so muddy?  
Outwardly, he led her inside. She nearly collapsed onto the waiting cushion. Mentally, he braced himself for all the possible reasons she could be here. He didn’t know what would be worse: confirming the worst of the fears running through his head or a lie. He was consoled by one thought: Meliara was a terrible liar, and without the carefully practiced Court mask, her true feelings were visible on her face.  
Slowly, he gathered information from Meliara. Neither of them seemed able to maintain one, clear line of thought. She’d had their old spy watching the Marquise? Had she been spying on him as well? Was her rush to action an acceptance of his rule, or only the defense of her beloved Hill Folk? For even as his own blood boiled at the audacity of the Merindar plot, it was for the violation of an agreement. To Meliara, they were heading out to harm her friends, for she had grown up amongst them. Would working together toward this common threat erase the bitterness of the previous year’s campaign?  
He couldn’t continue down that line of thought. Remalna came first. No matter how much his heart hurt at the thought, Danric pushed away the personal gains riding on this decision.  
He could detect no deceit in her. He had never lied to him, so he was quite certain he would spot it if she was now.  
Danric was distracted again by his riding gloves. He was in the presence of a lady, protocol said he should remove them. Automatically, his hands began to pull them off, but he stopped short when he remember the ring he was wearing. Meliara’s ring. He straightened his gloves again, hoping she would not notice the uncharacteristically nervous move.  
At that moment, he realized the hours spent writing to Meliara had not been in vain. Even if he never won her hand, his heart quaked at the thought, he had come to know Meliara. She had allowed herself to be free with him, and so he knew, deep down, that Meliara would never willingly harm so many at once. Even to oppose him. She truly wanted to see good for Remalna. That left one last chilling option. Meliara was being played by the Merindars. Perhaps they had leaked this information to her, knowing she would dash out, and hoping she would intercept and distract him.  
That couldn’t be the case, for he knew that Azmus was the name of the spy her family had used, only through the difficult search to find him so he could rescue Meliara just a few short months ago. And he knew of Azmus’ loyalty to the Astiars, so there was little chance of a bribe.  
So that left one question. How did they both wind up at this inn? Of all the possible paths to their own destinations, why here? Had someone on her staff been bribed by the Merindars? Or even more disastrously, someone on Danric’s staff?  
Forcing himself to calm, Danric reviewed the facts again. Both had only told a few trusted servants where and why they were headed out. They in turn had enlisted the help of a select few to complete the preparations. Perhaps their staffs had become well acquainted with each other through constant letter delivery. The servants had probably figured out who was writing to each other so much. Could the Merindar servants have figured it out, and infiltrated that small circle?  
Danric decided that was highly unlikely. Wasn’t her maid connected to his parents’ estate? His fractured thoughts couldn’t place her as an employee at the Renselaeus estate, but he knew there had been a discussion between his parents to ensure her search for a maid was filled by someone who would be fiercely and unfailingly loyal.  
His mind made up, Danric worked to create a lighter environment. Meliara’s actions helped, as she accidentally splatted them with her stew. Danric’s thoughts were still whirling, attempting to find faults with his reasoning.  
When they had finished their meal, and she had gone into the adjoining room to change, Danric quickly cleared his belongings. There was nothing more to be said, so he resolved to be gone before she returned. As soon as he reached his Blues, he would send a wing to help her with her task. There was no way that pint-sized Meliara would be able to stop the whole twenty wagon train. Not that she wouldn’t try. Grinning to himself, Danric wished his task would bring him closer so that he could watch the showdown. If Russav was near, he would probably put a wager on how long Meliara would last – and how many wagon drivers she would take with her. Resolving that his Blues would get there long before a winner would be declared on that wager, Danric reached for his cloak, dry, and relatively warm from its place by the fire. He glanced at hers, still dripping. He picked up hers, and determining that it would at least cover him, he took it, leaving his so that she would have better protection. He would soon be among his own warriors, where tents, warmth, and dry clothes awaited him. She wouldn’t have any of that, nor help that would arrive as speedily as it should. The only thing he could protect her from was the rain. He hoped it would be enough.


End file.
